Purpose (22 page)

“Oh. Well…I guess that’s good for Sonya.”

He nuzzled his face against my neck. “Can we
change the subject back to you?”

I thought for a minute. “I don’t know what
else to tell you. My memories are all pretty dim.”

“Then stop talking.” He kissed me on the
mouth to make his point, his lips warm and delicious, and I
responded immediately.

I moved around in his lap to straddle him. He
took my face in his hands and crushed his lips to mine. I opened my
mouth to let his tongue in, tasting his deliciousness with my own.
My pelvis ground against his as his hands made an electric path
down my sides, to the bottom of my dress. He lifted it over my head
and dropped it on the ground. His hands circled my breasts, gently
squeezing while his thumbs rolled my hard nipples. He leaned down
and I arched my back as he took a nipple into his mouth, sucking a
line of pleasure straight from my groin. I rocked my hips against
his hardness, still imprisoned in his jeans. He finally stood and
carried me inside.

We made love throughout the night, not able
to get enough of each other. The first two times, earlier in the
day, were just pressure relievers—letting us release just enough
pent-up energy by meeting our most primal needs before we both
exploded. Now, with that edge off, we could truly get reacquainted.
No, it was more than that. Having been newlyweds for only two
weeks, we hadn’t even had a chance to really get to know each other
in the first place, not intimately. We’d been allowed to smell the
bouquet, to taste the flavor, even to enjoy a full glass, only to
have the bottle taken away. Now, another bottle was brought out,
same year and vintage, but with time and separation, the flavor
tasted new, yet at least recognizable. And more intense…so much
more intense.

We started slow, rediscovering places we’d
been before but with new appreciation. Feeling at once familiar,
yet unknown and exciting. It didn’t take long to become more
comfortable, less inhibited. We quickly moved on to explore and
discover and learn with and from each other. And we made every
effort to make up for those missing years. Well, at least one or
two of them.

Several times I had to tell Tristan how much
I loved him when he seemed to be losing control. At one point, he
downright frightened me.

Using his paralyzing power, he pinned me
against the wall, a couple of feet off the floor. It was an
exciting game to see how long I could let him touch me without
being able to move or respond with anything but my eyes or mouth.
We’d only tried this experiment once before because it was a
dangerous game—he had to maintain control or his power could
literally crush me to death. The risk made it all the more
thrilling.

He placed his hands on each side of my head
and started by kissing my lips, then my cheeks, then along my jaw,
his loose hair trailing over my skin like a feather. His lips moved
down my neck and, his hands still flat against the wall, to my
breasts. He kissed and sucked and rolled my nipples with his
tongue. I could do nothing but let him. I desperately wanted to
reach out and slide my hands over his perfect chest or press my
body against the full length of his. I shivered with the combined
feeling of anticipation and helplessness as his hands finally
caressed my body.

Starting at my shoulders, they moved slowly
down my arms and back up again while his lips and tongue trailed
along my collarbone. Then he slid them down my torso, over every
curve and every indent. They explored my breasts and my tummy and
my hips. They ran down the outside of my legs and trailed
electricity back up the inside. One came back up to my neck, while
the other stayed in between my legs and a finger slid inside me. I
could only respond with a moan of pleasure.

Tristan’s mouth came back to mine again and I
looked into his eyes. They exploded with fire. A long, feral growl
rumbled through him as he kissed and sucked on my neck, one hand
squeezing my breast and the other still between my legs.

“Tristan,” I whispered breathily, “I love
you, baby.”

He growled again in response. Then it seemed
like his hands were suddenly everywhere, fervently rubbing all over
my body. His lustful gropes became rough, not his usual, careful
caresses. Every place his mouth landed, he sucked hard, as if
trying to devour me. And then I felt his power intensifying,
pressing in on me, squeezing me from the outside in. My heart,
already racing with excitement, throbbed even harder, as I felt a
loss of control. I was paralyzed—unable to reach out and grab his
attention. The shivers changed to trembles of fear.

“Tristan, please,” I pleaded. “Look at
me.”

He ignored me. He panted with desire as he
yanked me off the wall and into his powerful arms, holding me
firmly against his hard body. One hand gripped tightly at the back
of my neck and the other pressed into the small of my back as he
carried me to the bed. His power was released from me, but now he
could have easily snapped my spine or neck with just one
unintentional squeeze or twist and I didn’t know if I could heal
from such an injury. I normally wouldn’t have worried about him
going so far, but I’d never seen him with such little control. His
eyes burned brighter and panic rose in my chest as my heart tried
to pound through it.

I braced his head in my hands and forced him
to stop and look at me.

“I love you, Tristan. Please, baby. I love
you.” I sounded desperate and I didn’t know if the distressed pleas
would make the situation worse. But not knowing what else to do, I
simply repeated the three-word sentence he’d been so eager to hear
earlier and hoped it would get through to him before he did
something rash.

I continued staring into his eyes as the fire
finally died down and his grip on me loosened. A look of horror
spread across his face as he realized what he’d almost done and his
eyes darkened completely with regret as he sat on the bed with me
still in his arms. He shook his head and opened his mouth to say
something.

“Shh,” I said. “It’s okay. I love you. I
trust you.”

He fell backward on the bed and closed his
eyes. I leaned over him and kissed his mouth, pressing his arms to
the bed with my hands.

“Just let me do it now,” I whispered.

I didn’t have the power to keep him still,
but he lay there as if I did. His hands clawed at the bed—and only
the bed—as I took over. I leaned down further, pressing my breasts
against his chest, while I kissed his face. My mouth moved back to
his and I pushed my tongue inside, tasting his tangy-sweetness. I
pulled on his lower lip with my teeth, then moved lower. I slid my
hands and mouth over his neck and then his chest, kissing and
licking and sucking. Continuing downward, I kissed and stroked
every inch of him until he trembled with anticipation, just as he’d
done to me. He didn’t move until I straddled his waist and sunk
down onto him.

I was ripe and ready for him and I moaned as
he filled me completely. He finally lifted his hands and rubbed his
palms against my hard nipples, then gently squeezed my breasts. I
leaned over again and planted my mouth on his. His hands slid down,
over my butt, then to my hips and they gently rocked me, slow at
first, getting into our rhythm, then faster and hotter and deeper.
I cried out when that last stroke went deep, hitting just right. I
squeezed him as every muscle in my body contracted and I plunged
into oblivion.

It had to be nearly dawn when we finally fell
asleep from exhaustion. The end of my memory-dream played—the one
that wasn’t a memory at all, just a figment of my semi-accurate
imagination. Tristan in the desert mountains, writhing on the
ground in front of the Daemoni. Then his face clearly filled my
vision, the scars bright red and fire filling his eyes. He growled
loudly and deeply and then dove for my throat.

OH!
I sat up, gasping and wide-eyed.
My breath came out raggedly as I looked around, trying to get my
bearings.
No desert. No mountains. Just a dream.
I sat on
the floor of the Caribbean room, wrapped in a sheet, the room
completely destroyed. Tristan lay on the floor next to me, his hand
tugging my arm, pulling me to him.

“You okay?” he mumbled, squinting at me in
the bright morning light.

“Yeah,” I breathed, collapsing into his arms.
“Nightmare.”

“Mmm.” He nuzzled my neck. “Want to tell me
about it?”

The visions tried to come back into my mind.
I shoved them out. “No. It was nothing.”

I relaxed into him and we lay there lazily
for a while.

“How come you don’t have nightmares?” I
finally asked, rolling over to look at him. “I think if I were you,
I’d be afraid to even sleep.”

He frowned. “It’s a practiced art, but I’ve
learned to cut off that part of my mind.”

“Your subconscious? You can cut it off?” I
asked with disbelief.

“Cut it off, close it down. It took a hundred
years or so to learn how, but if I hadn’t, you’re right. I would
have never made it this long.”

“So, you don’t dream at all?” I lifted an
eyebrow.

“Only if I want to allow it…and when I do, I
take the risk of reliving some horrors I’ve tried to forget. But
while I was gone, I allowed it, hoping to dream of you. And I did,
every night.”

My heart squeezed. “What did you dream
about?”

He smiled. “Mostly our memories…the good
times we had. But, sometimes, I got
really
lucky.”

“What do you mean?”

His grin grew. “I dreamt of times like last
night.”

“You dreamt of dinner with Owen?”

He laughed, then nuzzled my neck again. “I
think you know what I mean.”

“Wow…you did get lucky. I never had dreams
like that. Well…actually, I did dream of our wedding night.”

“Yes, that would be one of them,” he murmured
against my ear. Goose bumps rose on my arms. “One of my
favorites.”

“But if you allowed those dreams…didn’t you
open yourself up for the bad ones?”

He sighed. “Yes, but it was worth it.”

I sighed, too, remembering how I relished the
memory-dreams, even the bad parts. “I know what you mean.”

His eyes changed quickly, from dark to
sparkly, and he smiled. “But now I get to wake up to you by my side
every morning.”

“Yeah…to all the beauty of my ratty hair and
morning breath.”

He chuckled. “I love it.”

“I know you do. For now, anyway. After a
hundred years or so, I’m sure you’ll get tired of it.”

His brows furrowed, as if he thought hard
about this possibility, then he smiled again. “Nope. Don’t think
so.”

He pulled me close to him and we lay in each
other’s arms again until I finally had to get up for the bathroom.
My body burned and I assumed it was healing itself. My skin looked
purplish-green with partially healed bruises covering almost every
inch. When I came out, Tristan just stood in the middle of the room
with the white sheet wrapped around his waist, looking around with
an amused expression. His torso also appeared to be purple and
green.

And our room…the poor Caribbean room. The
white chaise lounge in the sitting area lay on its side, broken in
two, cotton and spring intestines pushing through the torn
upholstery, and its purple throw-pillow now just a pile of
feathers. Splintered pieces of the wooden table lay strewn across
the floor. The window treatments over the sliding glass doors
barely hung from one corner, the jewel-colored fabric torn in
several places. The bed stood as it should, but pillow-top stuffing
exploded from the shredded mattress. Pieces of the headboard rested
on the bed and surrounded the remains of a turquoise pillow. The
walls looked like they’d been tattered by shrapnel and chunks of
drywall littered the carpet. The dresser seemed to be the only
piece to survive, although the mirror hanging over it now looked to
be a puzzle of jagged pieces.

“I think Hurricane Alexis hit our Caribbean
island.” Tristan wrapped his arms around me and kissed the top of
my head. “Did you have fun?”

I smiled. “Despite the results, yes. Last
night was unbelievable.”

He chuckled. “I agree.”

“But it could have been Hurricane
Tristan.”

“Nope, first of the season. It has to be
Alexis.”

I tilted my head to look up at him. “So
tonight will be Tristan?”

He grinned. “Can you handle it? Because it’ll
be a category five.”

I laughed. “You already blew me away last
night. I don’t know how much worse—or better—it can get.”

“Ah. I love a challenge.”

We showered together, too sore to do anything
but
shower. He sat outside with a cup of coffee by the time
I dressed in one of the sundresses. Owen knocked on the front door
as I came out of the bedroom. He followed me through the kitchen
and family room as we headed for the balcony. I yanked the bedroom
door shut, but not before Owen caught a glimpse of the mess. He
pulled me to the side and his eyes fell on the last of the bruises
on my arms when I cringed from his grip.

“Are you sure you’re okay with him?” he
whispered, as if Tristan couldn’t hear him anyway.

I rolled my eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Alexis, I saw your room. And the bruises.
Did he do that to you?” His eyes showed genuine concern.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s my job to worry about it. What
happened? Did you two get in a fight?”

“No. It’s really none of your business.”
Please don’t push it, Owen
. But he did.

“I’m supposed to protect you. If he’s hurting
you…”

“Geez, Owen, if you really have to know, we
were just…making up for lost time.”

I gave him a significant look. The bewildered
expression on his face told me he still didn’t get it. I groaned
with frustration.